The Favor
by The Vampire Alchemist
Summary: Ivan Braginsky thought his life was over when his wife left him for a wealthier man. Instead, a deal is struck when the devil comes a'knocking in the form of a teenage boy. A teenage boy with a too-wide toothy grin and a vintage bomber jacket.


It seemed as though Ivan Braginsky had it all.

He was a man who, at first glance, could appear intimidating with his unusually tall stature, his pale features, his quiet demeanor, and his intense eyes. However, anyone who knew him personally would describe him as a somewhat shy, humble, charitable man; a man whose kindness and selflessness sometimes made Mother Teresa look selfish in comparison, but a man who was also fiercely protective of those who he loved. No one who knew him wanted to know what he could be like when he was angry.

Ivan lived in a quaint little house with a job as a professor of astronomy. He had been married for 7 years to a woman named Marianne and together they had 2 beautiful children. Theirs was a marriage that had recently become strained, as his wife grew more cold and distant. But since he still loved her, he was committed to making it work.

The Braginsky family attended church every Sunday, like good, god-fearing people were supposed to do. He had never exactly been one who was… _excited_ by the weekly sermon; he could recall several times during his childhood when his older sister had jolted him awake from his slumped position on the cold, hard pews and had scolded him for falling asleep yet again. But he had never objected to attending every week like he was supposed to.

Although, now in his life, if there was one thing that could ever make him want to leave the church, it came in the form of Pastor Arthur Kirkland. He was the most arrogant man alive, Ivan was sure of it. He had never known that being a Pastor could pay so well, either. Often dressed more like Donald Trump than a servant of the Lord, Kirkland rather liked to show off his gaudy Rolex watches or drive up to the chapel in a sleek Mercedes Benz. Or sometimes it was a Porsche, maybe even a Ferrari. He lived in what some might call a "small" mansion, with two garages and a large front-lawn display that was surely maintained by undocumented workers. He also had a tongue sharper than a blade, and often liked to make snide remarks about anyone he deemed lesser than him, Ivan being one of his favorite targets.

There was one thing, however, that money could not buy the pastor. Kirkland's wife, a lovely Japanese-American woman named Sakura, had unfortunately been diagnosed with cancer and was believed to be not long for this world. The doctors had said that there was a chance that she could pull through, but it was slim. But that didn't matter to someone like Arthur Kirkland; despite his monstrous eyebrows, he was a good looking man and with his sharp wit and sizeable checkbook, he could have just about any woman he pleased.

It just so happened that Marianne was that woman.

Ivan suspected more than once that his wife could have been unfaithful. But with no evidence to go on, he brushed it off as paranoia. However one evening, while Ivan had been giving the children their bath, Marianne had been in the office, using the family computer. Paying the bills, she had claimed. That alone made Ivan suspicious; Marianne had a weakness for material wealth that made money slip through her fingers faster than water.

After bath time, the children had wanted Mommy to tell them bedtime stories, so when she reluctantly went off to do so, Ivan did something he normally wouldn't do. He snooped through his wife's e-mail account. It was there that his suspicions were proven undeniably true when he found sexually explicit messages sent back and forth between Marianne and the pastor.

That night was one of the worst nights of Ivan's life. The fight between husband and wife had been very ugly; nasty insults were hurled, mostly from Marianne's lips. Names were called and threats were traded. Because of Sakura's dwindling health, the pastor was forced to accept that he couldn't start a family with her. But his inflated sense of entitlement told him that it wasn't a problem; he could just take Ivan's. After several sessions of "extra bible study", he had extended an invitation to Marianne and the children to move in with him once Sakura was six feet under, and Marianne was all too happy to accept. Leaving both Ivan and Sakura to rot.

Ivan Braginsky did not have the kind of money it would take to hire a legal team. Arthur Kirkland did. There was very little chance that Ivan could ever hope to win a custody battle for his children, certainly not when their mother was alive and capable. Especially not when they had a man as wealthy as Kirkland providing for them.

That was why Ivan now found himself checked into the seediest motel he'd ever seen in his life. It was a place that had dim, flickering lighting, exposed dry-wall, and a molding carpet. It was the kind of place where the sheets were permanently tainted with the foul stench of tobacco and sweat, the pillows were paper-thin and the faded blankets were almost threadbare. It was a place where cockroaches were permanently checked in, and didn't feel intimidated when light was shone on them.

Perhaps, if Ivan had been a different man, a prostitute might have been in his company to ease the pain of his loss. But no, instead he had something else. As he took yet another swig of Smirnoff from his left hand, he inspected the Smith and Wesson revolver in his right hand, wondering how his life had come to this. Had he not been loving and supporting? Had he not done everything he could to make her happy? And yet, she was ready to toss him aside like yesterday's garbage, for someone richer. She was willing to take everything he'd ever loved away from him, just for some platinum credit cards in her wallet and foreign-made sheets to slip between at night.

He'd had his last meal just a half-hour earlier. There was absolutely nothing else to stop him, and it seemed as though no one would be sad to see him depart this world. Slowly, he raised the cold, polished barrel to his lips. At least the world could extend him some small mercy; his life didn't flash before his eyes. He was grateful for that. He didn't think he could live through Marianne's rejection a second time. He clenched his eyes shut, his finger hovering over the trigger.

They say that he who hesitates is lost. A man who spends too much time contemplating an important decision can ultimately lead to disastrous consequences. Ironically enough, if Ivan hadn't hesitated in pulling that trigger, or alternatively if had decided to spare his own life just a tad quicker, then certain events and consequences would not have been set in motion that night.

Ivan sat on that sagging, groaning mattress with the cold revolver in his mouth, his finger still hovering. His mind raced. It felt like one side of him was trying to convince him that this was the best way to end it. Just end it and pull the trigger. Another part of him whispered that it didn't have to be like this; that he could still pull the polished barrel out of his mouth.

It was then that the motel room's phone began to ring.

The sound startled him, but thankfully not enough to accidentally shoot himself. No one was supposed to know he was here, and if it were simply housekeeping or management, they would've come straight to the room instead of ringing him. _Who could possibly be calling him at such a late hour?_ He slid the gun out of his mouth, set the bottle of vodka down, and answered the phone.

"Hello?" he grunted, making an effort to not sound like he was about to take his own life.

"_Ivan! I'm so glad you picked up!"_ an unfamiliar voice sounded in his ear. _"Listen, before you decide to…eh…redecorate the walls with your brains, you and I need to have a talk."_

Ivan froze. A small shiver went down his spine. No one was supposed to know he was here. He hadn't told anyone, and he certainly didn't know who this voice belonged to. And yet…they knew. They knew what he had been about to do. Was…was he being watched? Ivan put his educated mind to work, conjuring up the most coherent thought into words.

"Wh-what?"

"_I said, you and I need to have a talk. Wait up for me, I'll be there in a jiffy."_ And with that, the mysterious voice hung up.

The phone hung loosely in Ivan's grasp as he stared at the wall in a stupor. How? _How?_ Was he the victim of a prank call? But if that had been the case, then how had they known his name or location? It occurred to him that perhaps the man on the other end had been some sort of pervert; maybe a pimp looking for a quick buck? The motel certainly wasn't a 4-star attraction. Perhaps a dealer? He'd seen the place crawling with all sorts of weirdos. He took another swig of the nearly depleted vodka to prepare himself for whatever was to come.

Knock, knock.

For the second time that night, Ivan nearly jumped out of his skin. The bottle fell to the floor, the remnants of his liquid courage spilling out and seeping into the badly stained carpet.

"Who…who is it?"

Nothing. He didn't like this; ever since the phone first rang, a foreboding feeling crept up on him. Terror now churned like a black brew in the pit of his stomach. This whole turn of events was just…wrong. Ivan licked his lips and tried again, this time making sure his voice wasn't quite so high-pitched.

Knock, knock.

"Who is it?"

It was silent again for another moment, and then a reedy voice said "….housekeeping."

Ivan let out the breath he'd been holding. It was just the maid. He was supremely annoyed, and yet he also couldn't help but feel a little relieved.

"I'm a little busy at the moment. Please come back later."

The other side of the door was silent, and then the knocking came back a little more insistent this time. "Housekeeping!"

Ivan grit his teeth. "I said, come back later!"

"I clean now?"

"No!"

The maid was silent on the other side for a moment, until...knock, knock.

"I come in?"

Ivan groaned slightly and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. It occurred to him that the woman's English probably wasn't very good, but one would think that she would have learned the meaning of "come back later."

"I said, not righ-" Ivan swung the door open, prepared to turn the woman away as politely as he could in his buzzed state, but stopped short when the empty doorway greeted him. There was...no one there. He leaned his head out into the corridor; perhaps he'd overheard the maid bothering a different guest. But no, the hallway was completely empty, more barren than an abandoned Blockbuster store. The silence unnerved him. He wished now that he hadn't dropped his Smirnoff. Or that he had bought a second bottle.

Checking that the "do not disturb" sign was indeed hanging from the doorknob, he turned back inside and closed the door behind him. He didn't even have a chance to breathe before he was interrupted again.

Knock, knock.

"Hooooouuuuuusekeeping!" The voice on the other side taunted him.

"GO AWAY!" Ivan roared, supremely annoyed. It didn't make sense; the hallway had been empty when he checked.

Knock, knock. "I change towels?" The woman's voice sounded entirely too smug now, and even if she had apparated out of thin air, Ivan didn't appreciate how she was fucking with him.

"NO! I AM NOT LETTING YOU IN!" The strange sensation in his stomach was getting harder and harder to ignore, no matter how annoyed Ivan was. "PLEASE JUST GO AWAY!"

The knocking came again, only this time it was done in a way to annoy the fuck out of anyone who heard it. Constant pounding; first random, then in a drumming rhythm, then random again. Realizing that it probably wouldn't stop until he answered, Ivan turned back to the door and threw it wide open, prepared to give the maid a piece of his mind.

But once again there was no maid to greet him at the door. However, this time his doorway wasn't empty. There was a man, doubled over laughing. He looked to be a boy just on the cusp of adulthood, no older than 19 at the most. His scruffy hair was a golden blonde color, with one strand of hair standing up. He wore a pair of faded jeans, worn-out red converse sneakers, and a plain white t-shirt underneath a vintage WWII bomber jacket.

"Can I help you?" Ivan growled out, ready to wring the little prick's neck as it seemed that he was the culprit for his harassment.

As he stood up straight, his full height about a head shorter than Ivan's, his fingers darted beneath his spectacles to wipe tears from his ice-blue eyes. "Oh man," he crowed, "You shoulda seen your face! You looked like you got caught with your dick in the family goat!"

"W-what?"

The boy let out a long sigh, regaining control of his breath. "Sorry, dude. Too old for you, isn't it? It's an old Scottish sayin', but when you're as old as I am you tend to forget. Guess it was funnier when everyone owned a goat. Are the kids still sayin' YOLO these days, Vanya?" And with that, the boy pushed past Ivan, letting himself into the room.

Ivan stared after the intruder, utterly befuddled. He didn't even have the presence of mind to close the door, or even take his hand off the knob as the boy surveyed the room with a low whistle.

"Damn, I've been in some nasty places," he said, "but this place takes the cake. If I were you, I woulda rented a penthouse somewhere ritzy. Maybe that Pyramid hotel in Vegas. At least you'd be goin' out in style. Or the Cinderella suite in Disneyland! Man, that'd be legendary, wouldn't it?"

Finally, he turned back to Ivan. "Anyway, can we talk?"

Ivan finally regained control of his mind. "No!" He said. "Get out and leave me be."

"Aw, come on dude!" the boy whined. "It'll only take a second!"

"It will only be a second before I throttle you."

The boy laughed. "Oh man, I'm really shakin'." He reached into his jacket and pulled out...an unopened bottle of Smirnoff, tossing it into Ivan's hands. "Would it help if I let ya wet your whistle some more? I just wanna chat with you."

Ivan turned the bottle around in his hand, inspecting it. He looked back up at the boy who was smirking, looking very proud of himself. "...what do you want?" he finally said.

The boy grinned a wide, toothy grin. "I just wanna help ya out, Vanya."

"Do not call me that." Ivan snapped. Who did he think he was, to address him so familiarly? "You can help me by leaving."

"Even after I got ya some more booze?"

"Da."

The boy pouted. "Man, you're no fun at all. I know you've had a real tough time lately, but it doesn't hafta be this way. So your wife used you and treated ya like crap. So what? Grow a pair, man. I can help you fix it. I can make everything aaaaalll better."

A small shiver went up Ivan's spine. The terrified feeling had never really gone away, but it was starting to rear its ugly head again. How did this child know so much about him? The feeling spread through the rest of Ivan' body, making his limbs feel all tingly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out for several moments.

"Who...who are you?"

The boy smirked again, cupping his hand around his ear. "What was that? Didn't quite catch it."

"Who are you? W-what...how…?"

"Wh-what am I? What oh what am I doing here? Was I w-w-watching you?" The boy taunted, making fun of Ivan's stupefied manner. He grinned rather shark-like, all teeth and twisted mirth. "Learn to enunciate, man! Seriously, if I let you do all the talkin', we're gonna be here all night and I got other places to be, broski."

He rocked on the balls of his feet, looking supremely pleased with himself. He gripped the collar of his own jacket and ran his fingers along the matted faux fur. "First of all, yes, I was _w-w-watching_ you, but not all creepy and perverted, y'know, like Ryan Gosling in _Drive_? Did you ever see that movie? Man, Ryan Gosling is one good lookin' sunuvabitch, am I right? Some guys just win the genetic lottery."

It occurred to Ivan that the boy very much liked the sound of his own voice, as he continued to prattle on about how awesome the Lego Movie was and then about how McDonald's was the greatest thing to ever happen to the world. Honestly, Ivan tuned out after about 5 seconds, contemplating about how he could possibly regain control of the situation. He stuck his hand into the pockets of his trenchcoat and felt the revolver still tucked into his pants. Gripping the neck of the bottle that was still unopened, he felt just a little more empowered now that he remembered the gun.

"Stop talking!" He yelled. "Tell me what is going on, right now!"

The boy's grin faded, quickly scanning the taller man's body. Ivan bizarrely felt ashamed, as the boy's expression took on an almost...disgusted look. "Sheesh, calm down. And get that gun out of your pants, before you shoot your dick off. Man, if you damage that beautiful weapon of mass destruction, then you'll really have a reason to kill yourself."

Ivan was floored. He slowly unbuttoned his coat and pulled the revolver back out of his pants. He was alarmed to discover that the hammer had still been cocked.

"So," the boy continued, the bubbly tone creeping back into his voice as he slowly wandered around the room again. "Yes I was watching you, 'cause I know a doomed soul when I see one. And Vanya, you're pretty fucked. Your wife is leaving you and takin' the kids with her, and the man you hate most in the entire world is stealin' everything you ever loved. That gets me right here, ya know?" He patted the place over his heart. "I couldn't just watch you let the bad guys win, man."

He ran a finger down the dusty surface of the television screen. "I've been there myself, you know." The boy lazily inspected the coat of dust now on his finger. "I was betrayed by someone I loved, then cast down and thrown out in favor of another." His sharp eyes glanced back up at Ivan and he grinned, the lenses of his glasses glinting in the flickering lights.

"Oh, but I haven't answered you first question yet, have I? That was pretty rude of me. Who am I? Kind of a long story, bro. This particular persona likes to be called Alfred, but I've been called many things. I've been called the Bearer of Light, the Son of Perdition, even the Proud One. Washington Irving once referred to me as Old Nick. I've been anointed a Prince, while at the same time, branded a Beast."

Ivan's eyebrow raised in skepticism. "You mean to tell me...that you're the -"

"_Pleased to meet you~! Hope you guess my name!_" The boy - Alfred, he'd said? - wailed extremely off key and flailed his arms in the air as if shredding a guitar.

"But that's impossible."

"Why? You go to church every Sunday, dontcha? The whole thing about that asinine little book being the 'True Word of God' is bullshit, but it so hard to believe that it actually got _something_ right? I mean, it is filled with more half-truths and garbage than the National Enquirer, but still."

This night was quickly becoming the most bizarre of Ivan's entire life. Mere minutes ago, he had been preparing to lodge a bullet in his brain and enter the pearly gates. Yet here and now, this cocky teenage boy before him that was now reclining in the room's one chair, was claiming to be the Prince of Darkness himself. The very personification of evil.

"If you're the Devil…" Ivan said, "...why do you look like a teenager?"

"Oh my god, Karen," Alfred drawled, "You can't just ask someone why they're the devil." He cackled as the reference flew over the taller man's head. "Why not? I do as I please. I can be whatever I want. I can look like Loki in the _Avengers_, or I can look like your grandfather's rotting zombie. I once made myself look like a snake just to talk to this naked chick. Dat ass, bro."

"But...this doesn't make any sense!"

"Neither does Michael Bay's directing career! What's your point, dude?" Alfred shook his head. "Man, I miss the old days, when you people took me at my word so blindly. It made cheating at poker easier. I suppose you want proof then?"

The motel room's phone began to ring, startling Ivan for the third time that night. He looked to the boy, who only nodded and grinned. Slowly making his way over, he picked up the receiver and stuttered out, "H-hello?"

"_Housekeeping! I clean now."_ The maid's voice came through the phone, but at the same time, it came from the teenage boy across the room. His hand was held up to his face as if speaking into his own invisible phone, his lips moving perfectly in sync. _"No habla ingles. I come in? I change towels?"_

Alfred cackled again, throwing his head back and belting it out. Ivan was normally one whose expression was hard to read, but he was sure that even a toddler could make out the shock written all over his face.

As he placed the phone back in its cradle, he dropped bonelessly to the bed, still gripping the full bottle of Smirnoff in his hand. Perhaps now would've been an excellent time to crack it open, but as it was, he didn't have the presence of mind to do so.

"Ooo! Ooo! Check this one out!" Alfred cleared his throat, then…

"_I'm leaving you, Ivan."_ He said, in a perfect imitation of Marianne's voice. _"Pastor Kirkland has a bigger house than you, a bigger checkbook. That's not the only thing that's bigger, too."_ Alfred blew a raspberry. "Not bad, right? Oh by the way, she was lyin' about that, ya know? I mean, it's been a long time since I've seen someone with a disco stick as big as yours. But I guess a lady can compromise when that much dough is on the table."

The boy's mouth stretched wide. Wider than a mouth should stretch. If Ivan thought that his grins were 'shark-like' earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Every tooth seemed sharper than it should, almost as if thousands of tiny, ivory daggers were protruding from his gums. His icy blue eyes momentarily flashed amber, as his facial features subtly shifted into something more animalistic. But only for the briefest moments, for as Ivan blinked, the cocky twerp looked just the same as he had before.

"You can't have my soul." Ivan muttered quickly. "It's not for sale."

Alfred scoffed. "Oh come oooonnnnn. You really think I just go around buying people's souls like a greedy corporate jerkoff? Ye of little faith in humanity, Ivan. Most people are too smart to fall for that shit. If I were like the guys who play me in the movies, I'd be out of a job."

"Then...why are you here?"

"Like I said, broski, I do as I please." He sat up and leaned in closer. "And it would please me very much to do a favor for you. Just a favor. No contracts or souls involved."

Ivan licked his lips, gathering up his courage. "...what kind of favor?"

Alfred grinned toothily again. "So glad you asked me that, Vanya!" He stood up abruptly and started out the door. "Why dontcha join me for a walk? Bring your six shooter with you. Oh, and if you're not gonna drink your vodka now, you might want to save it for later."

As the teenage boy walked out the door, Ivan turned back to the phone in a last ditch attempt. But there was no dial tone. Horrified, he looked down to the floor to discover that the phone had never even been plugged into the jack in the first place.

"Yo, Vanya! Let's hustle!"

Ivan shakily got to his feet and followed the boy out the door. He tucked the bottle into his deep coat pocket and concealed the gun as best he could. Catching up to the boy halfway down the hall, he accompanied him down the rusty stairs and out into the parking lot.

"I see you're in a bit of a pickle, Ivan. Your wife is leaving you for that fucking limey, and taking the kiddies with her. What're their names again?" Alfred stroked his bare chin as if in contemplation. "Let's see...Natalia and Matthew, right? Darling little ones, if I do say so myself."

A righteous fury swept up in Ivan's chest. "Leave them out of this." he hissed icily. The mere mention of his children's names from this monster's lips was enough to make Ivan angrier than he'd ever been in his life.

Alfred's grin slipped from his face again, and Ivan's anger quickly died out. As much as he disliked the boy's grins, he found that they were far preferable to this. This look of disgust. He poked a finger into Ivan's chest. Hard.

"Listen here, commie." He snarled. "Just because I look like a spoiled twerp doesn't mean that I won't turn into some towering, Lovecraftian monstrosity if you keep talking to me like that. I don't take kindly to those who disrespect me, Ivan. Understand?"

The taller man nodded only once.

"Good. I'd hate for you to get disemboweled." The teen started off down the stairs once more.

"I dunno what all the fuss is about, anyway." He continued. "I love kids. I'd like one of my own, but it's tough to find a suitable candidate, and something about a millenium of Hell on Earth and the Apocalypse kinda turns most women off. And those that are willing…" He shrugged. "Well, they want to go about it all like _Rosemary's Baby_. Ain't nobody got time for those whack-a-moles."

Alfred paused and glanced over at Ivan, but whatever joke there was to be had was lost on the taller man.

"If you ask me, you got three options. Option number one is you go back up to your room, put the pistol back in your mouth, and end it. You never see Mattie or Nat again, and your wife keeps fucking the pastor.

"Option number two: you go home and put the gun away. Your wife still fucks the pastor, but hey, at least you get see your kids every two weekends of the month."

The boy bent at the waist and jauntily bowed as he held the door open for Ivan.

"I suppose this is where you tell me about option three." he muttered.

"Right you are!" He gestured in the direction he wanted to walk. "Option number three is this: you take that 32 caliber Smith and Wesson over to Pastor Kirkland's mansion tonight. Your wife's there right now, discussing 'church business'." He made a set of air quotations with his fingers. "Down on her knees right now, I'm sure, takin' communion if you know what I mean."

"Alright!" Ivan snapped. "What are you saying? You want me to kill Pastor Kirkland?"

Alfred shrugged. "Kill the pastor, kill your wife. Hell, why don't you kill his goddamned Scottish Terrier while you're at it? You hafta do it, Vanya! Don't let them take your children from you! I'd do it for you, but 'no killing' is one of those provisos I'm bound by on this plane of existence, if you get my drift."

Ivan would be lying if he said the thought had never occurred to him. It was more of a fantasy he'd only briefly entertained, never once thought of actually going through with it.

"B-but...that would be a sin." he croaked.

"Look who you're talking to, Ivan!" Alfred threw his hands up in exasperation. "Jeezus, do I have to hold your hand? Just for this one night, I can pull some strings for ya. _I will absolve you of your sins_. A 'get out of jail free card', if you will. And don't worry about the fuzz either; I have friends in high places. You won't even be considered a person of interest in the investigation!"

When had he started entertaining the idea? He was so engrossed in what the boy was proposing that he didn't realize he was being lead to his car. Not until they were standing right in front of it. "If you don't want my soul...what do you gain from this?"

Alfred's grin grew to impossible extremes again. "Smart man. Color me impressed! Like I said, I'm just doin' you a solid, man." He leaned against the car and popped a piece of blue raspberry bubblegum in his mouth. He held the package out to Ivan, who declined.

"Maybe one day in the future," he said. "You'll repay the favor. Maybe, maybe not. You won't be obligated to."

"...what kind of favor?"

"The hell if I know, dude! Pick up my dry cleaning, scrub my toilet, bump off a senator, who cares! You might never hear from me again anyway!"

Ivan could help but reminisce back to when he'd met Marianne. He'd been studying abroad in Paris, and they were so in love. Now he was standing in the parking lot of the world's seediest motel, allowing a baby-faced demon talk him into premeditated murder. Marianne's murder. Could he really do this to the woman he loved? The mother of his children?

"But...she's my wife. Part of me still loves her. I don't know if I could do anything to harm her."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You think she still loves you? When she is, _right at this very moment, allowing that fucking britaboo to plow her into next week?" _His voice became deeper, more distorted as he spoke. The sound was maddening, making Ivan want to bury his fingers into his ears until his eardrums burst.

"_Your adultrous whore of a wife SiNs with that sLIMey tWo fACEd sORrY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING AS WE SPEAK. IF THAT WASN'T ENOUGH SHE WAS RUINING YOUR LIFE BY TAKING __**YOUR. CHILDREN.**__ AND FOR FUCKING __**WHAT**__? BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE A BIG HOUSE OR A FAT BANK ACCOUNT? IT'S PATHETIC. NO, __**IT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING**__. SHE __**USED**__ YOU UNTIL SOMETHING BETTER CAME ALONG, __**AND HE DID THE SAME THING TO HIS WIFE. HELL IS FULL OF MEN AND WOMEN LIKE THEM. SEND THEM WHERE THEY BELONG, IVAN."**_

It felt as though his voice was cooking Ivan's brain from the inside out. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees on the cold, wet pavement.

"_**THAT PASTOR IS SINNING IN GOD'S NAME, AND YOU WOULD REALLY SIT THERE AND DO NOTHING? SEND THEM TO HELL, IVAN. SEND THEM TO ME AND I WILL MAKE SURE THEY SUFFER UNTIL THE END OF TIME!" **_

"_Alright!"_ Ivan screamed. "I'll do it."

The suffocating atmosphere lightened. Alfred's features and voice fell back to normal as he grinned. "Great!" He said, snapping a bubble in his gum. "Let's get started then, shall we?" He pushed himself off of the car's hood. "I'll meet you at the pastor's house. I'd ride along with you, but I'm the _Lord of fucking Darkness_, and you drive a _Prius._ So, y'know."

He opened the driver's side door for Ivan, but with the tip of his sneaker, as if touching the Prius would make him melt. It would be downright hilarious if Ivan wasn't about to assassinate his wife and his pastor. Alfred grinned cheekily, still smacking on his gum as he waved Ivan off.

Even though Alfred wasn't in the car, Ivan didn't dare take any detour. Every time he doubted his sanity, began to question if what had happened was even real, the boy appeared at street corners, intersection lights, bus stops, even the passenger seats of other cars. Silently watching him, making sure he didn't back out. Ivan could've sworn that he saw a rush of inky black smoke keeping pace with his car whenever it was in motion, but he couldn't be sure as he had to keep his eyes on the road.

Soon enough, he pulled up to the roundabout driveway of the pastor's front door, where Alfred was waiting for him on the front step. Ivan finally opened the cap of his Smirnoff and took a generous gulp before recapping it and placing it in the passenger's seat. Making sure the revolver was tucked snugly into his pocket, he got out of the car. Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder as he came near and whispered words of encouragement. The door was already open for them.

"Do it for your kids, Vanya." he said. "Do it for Mattie and Nat. They deserve a good dad like you."

As he stepped into the ridiculously large foray, Ivan could already hear the voices of Arthur and Marianne, lewdly wailing away.

Alfred snorted. "Man, has she always been this vocal? It sounds like a couple of pigs gettin' slaughtered up there."

Ivan grit his teeth and drew his gun, following the moans up the stairs. When he finally reached the source, he paused, leaning against the door. Alfred licked his chops in anticipation. It was as if he wanted them dead worse than Ivan did. He wondered, not for the last time this night, how it had come to this. Could he really do this? Could he really...take a life? He thought about his children. Could he really take their mother away from them?

"He who hesitates is lost, Vanya." Alfred's quiet voice slithered into his ear. But all the same, the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach began to lift and for the first time this evening, Ivan felt hope. He still loved Marianne. He had allowed Alfred to manipulate him, but he still had his free will. He could still walk away. No one had to die.

"_Baise-moi plus fort, prédicateur homme!" _Fuck me harder, preacher man.

The door was kicked in. The gun had six bullets, but only three were spent. It would've taken two, but Ivan couldn't pass up the chance to relieve the pastor of a little something.

_It's strange how draining murder can be,_ Ivan thought to himself. All he had done was pointed his gun and pulled a trigger, and from there, it was as if his body had switched to auto-pilot. He had taken two lives in cold blood.

Alfred whistled low and he squatted down to inspect the damage. "I knew you had it in ya, Ivan! But shit, I didn't expect ya to blow off his pecker too!"

Ivan jumped as he whirled to face him. The voice that had come out of his throat had not been Alfred's, but a voice Ivan knew very well. It was a voice that was tinged with an accent, and one that he heard every Sunday. The sight that greeted him was of...Arthur Kirkland, grinning too-sweetly at him. He glanced back at the bed where the real Arthur Kirkland still lay entwined with Marianne.

"Relax," his London accented voice said. "It's still me. Lucifer, Father of Lies, blah blah blah." He conjured up a rather posh cane to match his snazzy pinstripe suit as he stood back up, leaning on it lazily.

"Why…" Ivan stared. "Why do you look like the pastor?"

"Does it really matter?" The familiar acidic green eyes twinkled in manic glee. "Remember? I do as I please."

Before he could question the man further, the deafening sound of the front door being kicked open interrupted him. Several pairs of feet thundered across the floor and up the stairs. "Alfred", or rather Arthur now, tsked and shook his head. His wicked grin sent a shudder through Ivan's body.

"Oh Ivan," he chortled. "Do you have any idea what they'll do to you in prison?"

…

He knew it.

This had all been too good to be true. He'd been had.

Visions of a trial and incarceration danced before his eyes. Horrible thoughts of an eternal orange jumpsuit and possibly playing housewife to his cell mate blurred his vision. As the police reached the bedroom doorway, he placed his gun to his temple. He still had three bullets left.

But to his surprise, they simply walked past him and to the bodies. They brushed right by without a single word, or even a glance in his direction. They began to wrap the bodies in the soiled sheets...cleaning up Ivan's mess.

"Wh-what?"

"Arthur" cackled and Ivan whirled once more to face him.

"Oh man, you really do like you were caught with your dick in a goat now!" He crowed. Despite the fact that he now wore Arthur Kirkland's face and spoke in his voice, he still used all the slang and syntax that "Alfred" had used. "I really had you going there, didn't I? I'm just pullin' your leg, these boys are with me. C'mere, I want you to meet some friends of mine."

Ivan hesitantly shuffled over to the man. The smaller man wrapped his arm around his shoulder as best he could and gestured over to another man. "Hey, Luddy! C'mere for a sec."

This man was almost as tall as Ivan, powerfully built, and had his platinum hair slicked back. His expression was as severe as his posture.

"This is my buddy Ludwig." The man's deep blue eyes surveyed Ivan for a moment, before he held out his hand. Ivan could see the same sense of uneasiness that he himself felt.

"Pleased to meet you," he said automatically.

"The same to you." Ludwig nodded, shaking his hand firmly. The no-longer baby-faced demon patted Ludwig on the back, and he shrugged him off, as if he had been burned. It was clear now that the only person who wasn't uneasy was the Prince of Darkness.

"Do you know who Ludwig is, Vanya?"

Ivan shook his head.

"He's the head of the police department. He's very important." He scanned the crowd for a moment before gesturing over to another man. "And that man there just made detective. Congratulations on your new promotion, Vash!"

'Vash' turned away in shame, focusing on the scene before him to avoid making eye contact.

The demon turned back to Ivan. "Yeah, guess who's gonna head your wife's murder case?"

"B-but...what about the pastor? Who's going to investigate his murder?"

"Whaddya mean, buddy?" He winked and gave a little twirl. "Arthur Kirkland's not dead. He and his wife decided to move away and do missionary work in Africa. Or some shit like that. See? Everything wraps up neat 'n tidy, and _you_ get off scot-free, my fine friend. Oh, but one thing Ivan, before you leave."

"W...what is it?"

He wrapped his arm around Ivan again, tapping the knob of his cane lightly against the other's chest. "You remember that favor I told ya about? The one that I might call ya up on? Well, I've decided what it's gonna be?"

Ivan blinked. "I didn't...expect it to be so soon."

"Yeah, well, life's funny like that, innit?" The smaller man jeered. "It's really nothing you can't handle. I'm not askin' you to pick up dead bodies, like these fellas here. In fact, you could really do this in your sleep."

"What do you want?"

A sly little grin broke across Arthur's face. "This is the only favor I will ask of you." He leaned in a little closer.

"It is imperative that you never attempt to contact Sakura Kirkland. Do you understand?"

"What?" His request left Ivan puzzled for various reasons. "But Sakura Kirkland has cancer; she's dying."

The grin on Arthur's face grew. "Weeeellll, let's just say I did her a little favor."

"What are you going to do to her?"

"What's it matter to you? I do as I please."

Ivan waved a finger in the shorter man's face. "But you said I'm not obligated to listen to you, right? If I want, I could potentially drive over to the hospital and tell her everything that happened here, couldn't I?"

The acid green eyes narrowed beneath their bushy brows, but the smile never left. "Of course you can, Ivan. Like I said, this isn't a binding agreement. Your soul is yours. In fact, I stake no claim to any of these men's souls! They're just people who are kind enough to repay the favor I did for them.

"I've done favors for a lot of people, Ivan." he counted off on his fingers. "Cops, judges, even pedophiles who take pleasure in the suffering of children."

Ivan's stomach was twisted into knots now, he was sure of it. The man before him stared him straight in the eye, all signs of mirth gone. Now just as serious as Ludwig had been. "Do you understand what I'm getting at here?"

Ivan's mind raced with various scenarios, each one more heinous than the last.

"Sakura and I are goin' away." The demon continued on. "All you have to do is forget about her. Forget about this entire night if you want. But don't forget this: I am always watching you, Ivan."

The message was clear, and Ivan wasn't about to ignore it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded silently. With one last toothy grin from the man, Ivan turned and headed out the door, never looking back.

The next few hours were a blur, but they consisted of him driving back to his quaint little house and nursing the bitter bottle of Smirnoff. In the morning when his children asked where their mother was, Ivan told them the truth, but from a certain point of view. Mommy went out last night and she hasn't been back since.

True to the demon's word, Ivan never was a suspect. A few days after the incident, Marianne's body showed up in the dumpster of a night club across town, and an unfortunate 20-something was soon arrested as the culprit. It took the jury merely a week to come up with a guilty verdict. The poor soul now sat on death row.

Life went on and Ivan truly seemed to have it all. Despite the fact that he was now a single parent, his children were happy, and young enough that they wouldn't remember much of their mother as they grew older. Ivan continued to work at the university, although a mysterious pay raise made its way into his bank account.

Sakura Kirkland made a surprising recovery, and so joyous about the miracle, the good pastor decided to take them abroad and spread the gospel, as it were. Everyone in the congregation was happy for them and thought nothing of it.

Ivan still sometimes wondered what became of Sakura, but always continued on as normal, giving his children all the attention and love they ever needed. He repaid his favor by never contacting her.

However, that didn't stop the "pastor" from contacting him just once more. It came in the mail, in the form of a mint-green envelope. Ivan really didn't think anything of it at first; 'twas the season, and he'd already opened several holiday greeting cards.

The sickening, foreboding feeling that he hadn't felt in months suddenly came back with a vengeance as he stared down at the card in his hand. It included a picture of the demon wearing Arthur's face, and Sakura sitting side-by-side. Both of them were wearing knitted, ugly Christmas sweaters. The card read, "Merry Christmas from the Kirklands! The doctor tells us we can expect a special Christmas gift this year!" Sakura had her sweater hiked up, with her arms cupped around her midsection.

She was 9 months pregnant.

* * *

><p><em>AAAAAT LAAAAAAAST!<em>

_8 HOURS OF MARATHON WRITING. BAI, MITCH, I HOPE YOU TWO ARE HAPPY WITH THIS._

_Not much I can say about this piece, except that it was heavily inspired from a short story called "A Favor for a Favor" by Vincent V. Cava. The audiobook can be heard on YouTube, and I recommend listening to it. MrCreepyPasta narrates it, and he does an excellent job. Anyway, all the while I was listening to it, all I could think was "HOLY SHIT. ALFRED F. JONES. THE DEVIL IS ALFRED F. JONES." So I couldn't help but Hetalia this bitch. I honestly tried as hard as I could to give it my own style and not totally rip it off._

_Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, and "A Favor for a Favor" belongs to Vincent V. Cava. Send a review my way if you could, please and thank you!_


End file.
